Today Your Love, Tomorrow the World
by danniisupernova
Summary: Nobody knew what he thought of Queens. Nobody bothered to ask. Preseries 13 years. SylarOFC
1. Chapter 1

Gabriel loved Queens. He loved the way the houses were lined up, the way everyone on his block knew each other. He'd come to hate Queens by the time he changed his name, by the time he was special. It felt like a stain on him, how pointless his hometown felt. Sylar hated the people, the trees, the lawns and the hopefulness of suburbia that would never be quite gained. Ozone Park, full of crime and mafia bosses and ageing beatniks. Full of failure.

But before Sylar there was only Gabriel Gray, age sixteen. Nobody knew what he thought about Queens anyway, nobody asked. "That sad little dork" was what most people called him (that is, if they bothered to call him anything at all). The sad little dork was walking home, a square, thin brown paper wrapped object under his arm. He walked with his head down, staring right at his shoes, bowling forward almost blindly. He knew he had to hurry, especially if his mother wouldn't be stopping for bridge with Mrs. Wyhndermeer. Sunday mass had ended five minutes ago and he knew she'd be home by 11:15.

So it was against his better judgement when he decided to stop. He'd heard a muffled yell come from between the two houses he was walking past. He clutched the thin package more tightly. He'd been jumped by boys from his neighborhood before, which usually ended up in broken glasses and a bloody nose for him. A good laugh, his dad might have said.

He peered into the mouth of the alleyway. He saw two boys he knew from school: Erik Brenner and Tommy Michail. They had somebody pinned up against the wall of one of the houses. The person gave another muffled yell.

"What is it with you and comics Gabriel? You should be reading i serious /i books!" his mother would often wail at his closed door. But he didn't just read any old comic. He read the X-Men, exclusively. He knew the Dark Phoenix Saga by heart, having read it for the first time at age ten. He sometimes pretended Jean Grey was his girlfriend (he thought other things about her that he had told Father O'Brien at confession, always wishing that God could mind his own buisness, while he heard the drunk slob of a priest pretend not to laugh at him) or imagined being strong like Colossus. But it was Wolverine that he wanted to be. Every night when he went to sleep, he prayed that God would make him more like Wolverine: tough and cool. Somebody other people would notice, someone they would love.

And it was now that he felt like all that knee-wear was finally going to pay off. One of the boys shifted and he could see who it was that they had cornered: Kay Engleside, wearing big combat boots, a short skirt and a leather jacket. Her make up was smeared and her dyed hair was mussed. There was a bruise snaking it's way up her jaw. To Gabriel, the bruise made her look beautiful, the way black made everything else brighter.

He stepped into the alleyway, the same thought playing over and over in his head: i Hero, got to be a hero, need to be a hero /i "Hey!" he shouted.

The two boys turned around, scared at first. But when they saw who it was, skinny, silent Gabriel Gray, whose dad had run off and whose mom used to slut around (oh, didn't you know?) they turned back to Kay, with every intention of ripping off her clothes. After all, who was going to stop them? i That /i pussy?

"Hey!" he shouted again.

"What d'ya want Gabby? Wanna suck me off for free?" Erik Brenner called. "Cause this little bitch is asking for five bucks and I'm broke, so I'm not too choosy right now."

Tommy and Erik had turned their attention away from Kay for only a second, but it was enough. There was an empty beer bottle at her feet. She snatched it up and broke it over Erik's head. He didn't fall down so much as sit down very quickly, clapping his hand to his head like somebody who's forgotten something and only just realized. Then he keeled over. Tommy knocked the remains of the bottle out of her hands. "You fucking slut!"

Gabriel grabbed the lid off of the nearest trash can. He swung it violently down onto the other boy's head. He took a wobbling step and then toppled to the ground, a gash blossoming on the side of his head. Gabriel cried out. The package he'd been carrying had been dropped in the tussle and now Tommy Michail's big booted foot had crushed it.

i Bastard /i he thought. i Big stupid jerk! /i 

Through the torn paper he could see a weeks worth of fixing pocket watches for old Jewish men in Ming's for pennies as so much dust in the wind: the splintered vinyl, the ripped cardboard. "The Who Sell Out". His only contraband in his mother's house: Jimi Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin. And The Who, with Pete Townsend, tall and skinny, just like him.

"Kid, we have to go." Kay was pulling on his sweater's sleeve. "When he wakes up, they might try to fuck i you /i in the mouth too. Or they might just kill you." She looked at the smashed album. "Look, I'll buy you a new 'Who' record myself. Let's just i go /i !" She practically dragged him out of his shoes. Gabriel turned to look at her. She was so small compared to him. She darted forward quickly and kissed him. "C'mon. Let's beat feet."

And with that she grabbed his hand and started to run and he ran with her. A month ago, hell, a i day /i ago, he was nobody. But now, she'd made him somebody. "I've never kissed a girl before," he said suddenly. She smiled. "You think I couldn't tell?" And they kept running and all thoughts of being home on time for his mother faded.


	2. Chapter 2

"You don't know Nirvana?" Kay asked around a mouth full of cheese sandwich. They had run for blocks before slowing down and now they were sitting in an automat on 59th. She'd been asking him questions about his records. She knew that they went to school together, P.S. 63 and that he sat one back,one to the left from her in Mr. Hauseman's math class. She'd ask him if he'd heard of a band and then talk about it if he hadn't and prod him to talk if he had. It was easier to talk to her then he'd expected.

He shook his head. "Nirvana is going to save the world. I know it. Their next album...man, Kurt Cobain practically saved my life." She stopped for a second and smiled at Gabriel. "But then you did it for real. You're my hero now, Gray. And that makes you cooler then Kurt Cobain. Well, almost."

Gabriel looked down at his hands. Cool? Gabriel Gray?

"Do you like comic books?" he asked suddenly. She looked a little startled, like she hadn't been expecting him to say anything unless prompted. She shrugged. "Not really. That is to say, I don't i dis /i like them." He nodded and looked down at the table.

"You looked surprised that I said something." He spoke up out of nowhere, not even really knowing what he was going to say when he said it. He sounded almost angry. She looked at him mildly.

"Well, you're usually kinda quiet at school. And I figured that you were just...I dunno, kind of in shock after what happened with those guys back there. I mean, why the hell else would you let me jabber on so long?"

She laughed nervously when she said the last part. "You were so quiet. I didn't know if you were okay."

"I was just listening to you talk."

She got a blank, sort of shocked look on her face. For the first time in the thirty or so minutes that he'd known her, Kay seemed to be at a loss for words. She pulled a flask out of her pocket and bolted the contents. She started to get up from the table.

"Um, so...I have to get home. I was out all night and I need to sleep it off, but-" 

"Oh, no. That's fine. I understand." Gabriel stood up. He had no idea what he'd been hoping for. Cool? Not even close.

"If you don't want-"

" i But /i ," she cut him off. "If you want to do something later. Like Wednesday night? The Ramones, the band on my shirt," she quickly opened her huge leather jacket to show a torn shirt, her pale skin peaking through the black like faces behind a curtain. "They're playing CBGB's in the city for the first time in a while. I figured cause you don't know punk or a lot of new music that I'd take you." She paused. "If you want to."

He opened his mouth to answer that yes, he wanted to (in fact, he couldn't really think of anything he'd like to do better) but he couldn't go out, especially on a school night, especially not with a girl, especially one who'd kissed him. His mother might very well kill herself at the thought.

"We do have Thursday and Friday off. Parent-Teacher conferences. Wouldn't want to encourage an upstanding type like you to miss any school." She gave him a very sideways grin.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, what time?"

She laughed. "I thought you'd tell me no way in hell! I guess it's my lucky day."

He smiled at her a little.

"Finally!" She exclaimed as they walked out the door. "I thought you'd never smile at me! Damn I was starting to wonder if I"d died!"

He almost slammed the door behind him. Almost.

His mother had heard about Kay already. It seemed one of her friends from church had seen them together, running past her house. Looking happy no doubt. All sorts of nasty thoughts had probably flown into Mrs. Warner's head. All sorts of nasty, Catholic, suspicious, spiteful thoughts. And what do bored, spiteful old women like her do when they see someone being happy (especially if they're part of the liturgy)? Why, call someone up about it of course! That wasn't the sort of thing you just i let /i happen in your neighborhood!

Virginia Gray had been practically sobbing while she shouted at her son. A trashy girl! Some girl who drank and went into the city! God only knew what the neighbors would think of such a thing! Her special boy, running around with the neighborhood slut. A girl who was no where near good enough for him! Didn't he have any brains at all?

He had merely looked down at his shoes and walked to his room. His fists were clenched in his pockets, but he couldn't say anything, not to his mother. After all, who, besides her, would ever love him?

Not knowing what else to do, he pulled out his record player and then remembered that he didn't have a new record to listen to. He reached for it, wanting to throw it across the room. He quickly withdrew his hands, still thinking of the satisfying slam and shatter that would result if he threw it.

He lay down on the floor, putting his face side ways on the carpet. Whenever he was upset, he did this, never really thinking why. Special? Who the hell was special? Gabriel Gray (who might be cool)? No where near it. He heard the front door open and shut as his mother left. i Probably going to confession. Tell the priest about how I'm a sinner. She'll just do a thousand sins worth of penance and hope it's enough for both of us. /i 

Then he heard the mailslot flap and something clatter onto the floor. It was two years before his mother was forced to sell the small house and they moved into the small apartment building. His father's government check had already stopped coming and his mother would soon start her losing battle with the bank over a second loan.

There was a tape on the floor. The sticker on the front had 'For Gabriel Gray' scrawled in permanent black pen on it. There was a piece of paper taped to it that said simply "1-Something in the Way, 2-Dumb".

There was no tape deck except the one his mother used for listening to her tapes of choral music. He walked into the kitchen where she kept it. It weighed nearly a pound. She'd had it for as long as he could remember, a big, boxy brown device that squealed oddly when it went haywire. He clicked the tape in. He pressed play.

The world seemed to shift. It wasn't like anything he'd heard before. He felt like the man's voice was scraping his bones, as if he'd found all of Gabriel's secrets, hidden under sweaters and quietness; had found them and was now dragging them all into the light of day.

He listened raptly to the first song. He felt bigger, almost infinate listening to it. Kay had listened to it too, knew he was listening to it now. What did all of this mean to i her /i ? It made him feel like she was there with him, whispering in his ear. He could almost see the pieces of something fitting together. He didn't feel the same way he did listening to his records; that made him feel happy, almost weak in the knees.

This made him feel real.


End file.
